When Winnie Waves

Sometimes the morn is cold and gray,

     The day bids fair to be the same;

A sadness settles o’er the town,

     A brooding I can scarcely name.

When suddenly across the way

     A dainty vision I can see;

A drapery is thrust aside,

     And Winnie waves her hand to me.

And then the scene is quickly changed,

     My drooping spirits quickly rise

Although the sun has failed to shine

     There is a promise in the skies.

I do not even know her name,

     I call her Winnie since, you see,

By waving of her shapely hand

     She wins a brighter day for me.

Mayhap I ne’er shall know her name,

     Mayhap to her I ne’er shall speak,

I know I ne’er shall press a kiss

     Upon the dimple on her cheek.

But I shall be quite satisfied

     If every morning I shall see

Her at the window o’er the way

     And she shall wave her hand at me.

Oct. 17, ‘10